I Am
by contrabellee
Summary: I am mesmerised by the ability of the sky to be so open, letting us humans view all of her emotions. I often thought of it as an infinite ocean, one of the last mysteries a boy from district 4 can dwell on. - Finnick Odair & 65th Hunger Games. .
1. Prologue

Eyes open. No sleep, no awakening, yet no fear. I lie in between my sheets, inhaling their familiar smell of salt and the sea which linger throughout my home. Out the window I see the failing darkness of the night being consumed by the daybreak; the ever present horizon dividing the sea and sky is obscured by grey clouds. I sigh. The storm last night would have left the fish frantic and I feel a yearning to run to the wharves, jump into my family's small trawler and join my father in the hunt. A love of the sea was in my blood – it coursed through the veins of my district, with fishing being not only our industry; many of us only felt truly at home when the constant motion of waves were underneath us. However, today I turned from the window, looking up to the ceiling above me, my arms outspread. Children were not allowed to work today, by order of the mayor. Instead we were to be penned like animals the town square for the Reaping, whilst two of us were sent off to fight for our life.

The Hunger Games they call it, Capitol's stronghold against the once rebellious districts. It was a tortuous construction and yet it had fulfilled its purpose for over 60 years, keeping control, maintaining power and, of course, providing entertainment to the citizens of Capitol. In other districts families lay awake for nights before today, hoping that their children would be spared for another year, and yet in my sea loving home the lead up to the annual event was a long process of training and success. Breaking my gaze from the ceiling, I kick off my blankets, revealing my naked body. I sit up and look down. Every inch of me is golden from the long hours I have spent in the endless sun of District 4, on my father's fishing boat, and the constant physical labour of hauling full fishing nets aboard my father's ship and spearing the larger prey has left me undoubted toned. It was probably this factor that led them to select me, to train me. I swing my legs over my bed and leave the warmth of my bed behind for what may be the last time. Though I am facing death today, I have no fear in my bones. Walking over to the small mirror on the wall in front of me, my own face greets me – my sharp nose, high cheekbones and bronze coloured hair; and my sea-green eyes. I shut them, and recite slowly in my head the same words which had been spinning through my mind the past few weeks – _I am Finnick Odair. I am 14 years old from district 4 and I am a Career tribute._

Early on in the Hunger Games' history Capitol's most favoured district 2 had come to a realisation that in order to win the games, tributes should be trained for combat, to hunt and kill others. See, although Capitol had in their hand an invincible weapon against the districts in the form of the Games, they had cunningly made them enticing to win as they gained benefit for not only the victor, but the entire district in the form of reward; food, holidays and ultimately, favour. So, merely 6 years into the games, District 2 created their tactic. Taking strong children out of school and placing them in accelerated courses, the district encouraged these children to volunteer in the place of selected tributes, taking into the arena additional strength and skills, giving them a deadly edge over their opponents. The tact was a risk, being technically illegal, but it was overlooked by Capitol once the Games makers realised the entertainment in practiced tributes, as the 6th Hunger Games contained an intensified bloodbath, and the most thrilling final battle to date. District 2 won the Hunger Games 5 years running before the process had spread to District 1 and my own home. Then one sly comment made by the host of the 11th Hunger Games was made about _tributes whose career has been to kill,_ and the idea of Career tributes were born.

I think about how I came to such a life, the small tap on the shoulder, my parents being informed of my selection. It was during the summer months of my eleventh year, the day is still clear although it was 3 years ago. Most parents were proud their child had been chosen, it was amongst the subjects most bragged about in the district after the amount and size of fish caught daily. My father reacted in such character, slapping me on the back, telling me he was proud of me for keeping up the good name of Odair; and yet my mother stood behind him, white as a sheet, staring blankly into my face. In the night that followed I was restless; I remember the heat, I remember my mother's face. I couldn't sleep as the natural insulation of District 4 houses was failing under the unusually long heatwave. My whole body was beaded with sweat before I left my bed to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen - when I found my mother in a chair, crying softly whilst holding her swollen, pregnant bulge. She had always been a calm woman, a true pacifist in my father's words. She never showed her negative emotion to others, she only threw herself into work on the trawler when she was overwhelmed; and yet here I found her crying. I still don't understand this moment, where the heat was forgotten to me as I as mesmerised by my strong mother's faltered will. That night I did not disturb her stupor, but merely watched the aching escaping her mouth, in coherence with the sighing of her shoulders. Up and down. Constant. The memory is one that I play over and over, I question it every time I am in tribute training. I feel as though I will never know why my mother cried that night.

As my thoughts drift back to the present, I quickly turn from the mirror to my open window, and note the greater presence of light breaking through the grey clouds, falling over the distant seashore. The water was its usual deep green, waves rolling slowly in, and their gentle beat constant like a drum. I shiver with anticipation. It was a small hike, it would cut my time fine to get to the Reaping, but I was a desperate boy. Just maybe...

"FINNY!"

I feel a small body crush against my legs before I can reach my conclusion to throw on some swimming shorts. A small child grabs hold of either leg and forces her small head through my legs, looking down I see the ginger bob of my younger sister.

"Finny, it's morning!" she announces, her warm and bubbly personality always having extra vibrancy in the morning. Wriggling around my legs, she turns her head to look up at me. Her light green eyes catch mine and it's only then do I realise that I should have locked my door.

"Awwwuh, Finny where are your clothes?"

Embarassment seeps in. I quickly scramble my brain for an excuse or distraction. I take the first idea that comes to me –

"Argggggh!" I say, picking her up and throwing her over my shoulder, her high pitched giggles piercing through my sluggish, morning ear drums. "Pirate Finny needs to get a ready for an adventure matey!"

I make my way toward the door, and drop her lightly on the on the wooden floor. Whilst she regains balance I quickly make myself respectable with a towel slung over my bed post.

"Finny, can I come on the adventure?"

Her eyes are bright, her mouth tight. I know she is trying extra hard to suppress another laugh. Taking her will not add much time, I consider. I could carry her most of the way since she is so light. I watch her face examine mine, seeking for an answer. I can't help it, I smile.

"Yay! Thank you Finny!" she replies as she runs down the hall to find some suitable swimming clothes. As she disappears into one room, the head of my mother appears from another.

"Going somewhere?" she asks suspiciously, raising her right eyebrow. I hadn't intended on telling her, but I could never lie to her when she gave me that look.

"Maybe?"

I felt a twinge of doubt until she laughs and says, "Only joking, don't be long Pirate Finny, you've got to be back in town for eleven." Disappearing into her room, I think of her crying silhouette three years ago. How different she was that night.

Grabbing my swimming shorts, I find my sister sitting on the step outside the house, already in her small set of bathers. Looking up at me she smiles and jumps up from her seat.

"Ready?" I ask.

"True pirates are always ready for anything!" she replies, reciting the line perfectly from her favourite children's tale.

"Well then come on little miss!"

I start walking in the direction of the sea.

"But Finny" she mumbles, and I turn to see her looking worried.

"What is it?" I ask, concerned.

"I'm not a miss, I'm Pirate Fern!" she blurts out. I grin at my little sister, so confident and so young.

"Let's go then Pirate Fern." I take her small hand in mine, and we start to walk together. In my head, I laugh. If only all those girls who pine over me at school could see my now. _  
><em>

_I am Finnick Odair, and in this moment I am a pirate._

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><p><strong>Author's note<strong>: Hi guys, if you've read this - thank you so much. (: It's not my first attempt at fanfiction, but it's the first story I've published online. This was my NaNoWriMo project for 2010 and I've got around 5 chapters written so far, I never completed it, but it's about time I did. Please comment, i'd love to know what you liked and how I can improve. Natually, Collins is an amazing writer and all credit is to her.


	2. Chapter 1, Part 1

"One, Two, Three..."

I dive underneath the wave, still holding Fern's hand tightly. Time seems to slow down to a crawl, as I am submerged the troubles of the world fade away. I could be anywhere with Fern... but the wave passes and our heads break to the surface. I inhale. Whilst my vision slowly unblurs, I feel Fern let go of my hand and see her swim out to deeper water, to explore. I know I should join her, if mother was here she would make a face of disapproval, but I know Fern is an accomplished swimmer. She'll be fine, I mentally tell myself, she's from District Four! They practically throw us into water at birth. So instead of joining her I mimic my actions of the morning, and lie instead on my back, floating with the sky as my ceiling.

All I see is a vast expanse of blue. The last clouds of the storm have passed, and all that remains is just a carefully laid field of colour. A carefree nature consumes me, and I soon lose track of the day and time as I ponder the never-ending depths of the ocean above me. Gulls pass overhead, soaring in circular motions, falling, and then rising to a higher point. The fluidity of the whole situation numbs my thoughts, with the cold water soothing my aching muscles from the intensive tribute training from the past few weeks.

Training. The Reaping.

It all floods back so suddenly. I sit up, expecting to be lying on my bed, and instead I sink into the water. Spluttering and coughing, my limbs fall into the familiar action of keeping me afloat whilst I spit out sea water from my mouth. I scan the water around me. I am all alone.

"FERN?" I call, my eyes dart forth in every direction. "FERN, WE HAVE TO GO BACK NOW MISS."

I inhale, heavily. As my breathing becomes quicker I look at the sun's position. It wasn't directly above me, which was the first good piece of news, but it was certainly nearing 11 o'clock. I swore, loudly. Fern where are you?

Suddenly I feel a nibble on my toe. Instinctively I kick my foot, trying to scare away the creature trying to take a bite of me. Then I hear the distinctive noise of something breaking the surface, and someone breathing deeply behind me.

"Finny you nearly kicked me!" Fern frowns at me. I could kill her.

"Come here you..." I grab her around her middle and swim to the shore as quickly as the position allows. Marching out the ocean I stand Fern up on her feet and bend down so I'm on eye level with her. Now she knows she's in trouble.

"Listen, we're late because I got a bit distracted. Don't tell mother or we'll never be allowed out again. We don't have time to go home to change, so we're going to have to go to the Reaping in our swimmers."

I stop and laugh, thinking of how ridiculous I was going to look. Fern looks horrified. It's probably the thought of going to the only mandatory district gathering soaking wet and in a small pair of bathers.

Her small voice answers, "but Finny, I don't want you to leave yet;" and that's when I stop. Tribute training was not all fighting and weapons knowledge. What they didn't publicize was the large proportion of mental training, teaching us to strip away our emotions and our relationships. The Games were portrayed as our goal in life, "volunteer or be chosen," teacher told us, "and your purpose in life is fulfilled." Essentially they built us to being merciless, killing machines. However unlike so many of my peers, I maintained a sense of connection with human beings, with Fern; my baby sister, born the day after I was chosen to be a Career Tribute. This is how I led my double life; it was like having two voices continually argue inside my head. At night, the two sides are so consuming that even a small drug which induces a heavy sleep does nothing to quell their anger. I often jump out the window of my house to lie on the road outside, with the stars as my ceiling. It's only then that the voices cannot reach me, as I fall asleep naked, exposed to the world.

"Listen, Fern," I say softly, but she starts to cry. I don't know what to do. I hate making her upset. The voices rage inside of me, one to make her understand, going in the Hunger Games was the only answer, the other saying tell her you won't volunteer, just hold back just one more year. I do neither.

With no answer I pick up Fern's wet hand and we slowly start the walk back to town.

**XXXXX**

At the edge of town we meet my mother who gives me her infamous look, as she offers Fern a bundle of clothes – her Reaping outfit. I note she has none for me.

"Finnick..." she begins, and I wait for my serve. "You..." her voice trails off and her face drops. I look directly into her eyes and try to say everything at once - _I'm sorry, I love you_. Instead I offer her my open arms, which she walks into. Fern soon joins, holding us both around the legs. We stay like this for as long as we dare. As we do, the voices quarrel, and I feel blood is spilt, I know one has finally won for this year.

Before I let go, I say "now you two better make me some great lobster when I return." My mother's face falls, as if she had hoped her biting her tongue had changed my mind. She knows lobster is expensive, a luxury often only afforded to District victors. The next few words seem to be a struggle for her, barely whispering "oh... yes, only the best right Fern."

Fern looks equally, if not more disappointed. "Only for Finnick." Face downcast, I know she had been hoping I would change my mind. I can't resist, I pick her up and give her a massive squeeze.

"Pirates need to be strong Fern, stay strong for me" I whisper into her ear. She looks at me and smiles. I know I'm forgiven, for now.

"Come on, let's go" I say, raising Fern over my head, so she's sitting on my shoulders. I hear her giggle, and I laugh in response. Mother soon comes and walks beside me, quiet, lost in her thoughts.

My breathing pace quickens as I catch sight of the crowd. When we enter the town square the formal presentations have already begun, with the Mayor reciting his practiced history of Panem and the Hunger Games. I let Fern down and kiss both her and my mother on the cheek.

Making my way slowly through the crowded square, I soon notice that my naked chest and still-damp swimming shorts are attracting far too much attention for me. I bump into several people who are taken aback by my casual appearance, with everyone wearing their finest attire. I start to stress, soon a Peacekeeper will notice the trail turning heads and bewildered looks; and then a whole new world of trouble would emerge.

I hardly move one metre forward before I hear him.

"Boy! Where do you think you're heading?"

He grabs me on the shoulder, and roughly turns me to face him. The Peacekeeper stops, as he examines my face. I silently count my blessings; of all the Peacekeeper in the District, the closest on guard was a tribute trainer.

"Odair, son, shouldn't you be, umm..." he slowly says, cocking his head in the general direction of the pens. I nod solemnly.

"Well then hurry on and get in there, I'll mark your name off so don't worry about that," he replies shooing me with his hands.

Pushing deeper into the crowd, I am suddenly upon them. Several large roped of areas full of children. I spot the 14 year old boys section, and continue to press on. Many of my friends are looking around, obviously concerned that I wasn't yet present, their star career tribute and their champion. Suddenly one spots me, and then the entire number of district children turns their heads toward me, and many stifle a laugh. Typical Finnick, I know they all will be thinking, the proud and handsome career tribute, always known for his entrances. Yet, many boys faces also show relief, as their volunteer was here now. Even though they all express a worship-like devotion, I feel no regret as I remember my earlier decision and the death of one of my inner voices. I imagine Fern's face when I return home tonight and tell her my choice to not step forward for the Hunger Games this year.

Jumping over the rope, several of my friends and classmates to raise their eyebrows at my outfit, or lack thereof, and smirk. I just reply with one of my customary snide comments "What's wrong boys, never seen a real man before?" They all laugh at my comment, none being game enough to question Finnick Odair.

"So this is the year then Finnick?" one of them asks.

"No doubt they'll be begging you to volunteer by now!"

They all start talking excitedly about my chances in the arena and I roll my eyes. They had no idea of my choice to step down for the year. Although children from 11 – 18 were trained, it was usually the oldest ones who were specifically encouraged to volunteer, having a few more years' experience, and muscle, on us younger. However, my trainers had practically begged me to volunteer this year, the District had not won a Hunger Games in 6 years, and the people were in dire need for a celebration. I was the strongest trainee they had worked with since Vance Kirton, the 59th Hunger Games victor, however, I know they all whispered behind my back, about my 'x-factor,' my natural charm and good looks, also weapons in the vein Capitol.

The Mayor finishes his speech, and the entire District claps unenthused; but as the Capitol representative then stands up from her chair, the entire square hushes. With bright blue hair, pink heels and suit with a fish pattern, it's evident she's made the effort to dress to impress the audience. Unfortunately her general appearance has the entirely opposite effect.

"Another year, another Games," her high pitched voice rings out clear, "another chance for District 4 to snag victory!"

I notice many eyes turning; they all had so much hope in one person. Me. I look down to the floor, to my body which seems no longer strong, unbeatable, but the small structure of a child. "Fear, Finnick, don't let it beat you," I whisper softly – the first rule in tribute training. "You're not going in the arena this year."

I hear her voice again, "Good luck to one and all!" she flashes a dazzling smile.

"Girls first," my friend chuckles in my ear.

"Ladies first!" the high pitched voice confirms as her hand falls into the first orb, full of names, and emerges. The district holds its breath...

"Oliva Sworthy!"

I immediately look to the 17 year old roped section of the girl where a stunning blonde haired girl stands frozen, as girls around her embrace, kiss and comfort her. Hypocrites, I snarl, the whole lot of them. I know they're just secretly relieved it wasn't their name being broadcast around Panem at this very second. She slowly starts making her way to the stage, fixing her dress and hair as she walks. Stepping up, she awkwardly shakes the Mayor's hand, and those of past victors lined up behind the lectern, and then take her position on the stage. The wind blows through her hair and she sets a sad smile on her face. The sight of her raises the hairs on the back of my neck... she looks so fragile, and yet breathtaking. However I spot one obvious problem, she isn't a trained tribute.

I look around at the girls section, eyes darting forth from one trainee to another, and none of them look ready to step up. I catch the eye of one of them in the year above me, a well-built girl, Kendra, and I hold out my hand to her shrugging. She shakes her head, and then points to me.

Only then does it hit me.

They've all been told to hang back, this is my year, Finnick's victory. Their plan wasn't to get two tributes into the arena, but only me. I want to scream, but I swallow it down remembering I was not volunteering. The one good thing about the whole situation is you couldn't be forced into volunteering, only encouraged – to great lengths.

_I'll show them to use me as a pawn for the District, throw their plan right back in their faces_. A smile emerges on my lips as a look up and I feel a slap on my back.

"That a boy, Finnick! Confidence, it's your year!"

If only he knew my thoughts.

Boys around me start to say good luck, as the capitol representative says "let's find our strapping young man then!" and slowly puts her hand into the second orb full of boys names. Her hand emerges, in it the name of some poor soul...

I close my eyes to block out the face of the boy I could save from certain death. Tiredness suddenly washes over me from my sleepless nights of thinking, of violent voices. I've had no awakening from a peaceful slumber in weeks. I know tonight I will be able to fall asleep in my own bed, safe from the voices for another year. I inhale slowly... and then it happens.

"Finnick Odair!"

My eyes snap open into a spinning world, cheers and clapping. I feel I have aged years since I last closed my eyes. I'm pushed toward the stage, past numerous beaming faces. I see pride and hope in all of them. Everything is blurred, and suddenly I forget who I am.

"Finnick Odair! Please come up on the stage!"

Finnick Odair?

_I am Finnick Odair_, _I am 14 years old from district 4... and I am a Career tribute._

Training snaps in. Put the Games first, I think, emotions second.

Inhale and exhale. Just once.

I walk through the crowd with confidence and pride. As I step onto the stage, the entire District cheers at my appearance, and I know the Capitol audience will be greatly enjoying my lack of clothing. I do not accept the shocked Capitol representative's handshake, instead I kiss her on both cheeks. Surprised, she steps back, and I notice two pink patches forming on her cheeks.

As I turn to face the beaming crowd, they erupt in cheers. They finally have their tribute who will win again for them.

However, one face stands out amongst the thousands; a small head, just poking above the others. _Fern_. I keep smiling as the Reaping is concluded, but from that moment on all I think of is her and her vacant expression of disbelief.

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><p><strong>Author's note<strong>: Finnick is my favourite HG character (obviously) and it took me ages to determine what would be going through his head in his Hunger Games. I didn't think he would be willing, but prepared. What about you guys?  
>Thank you for reading once again. ^_^<p> 


	3. Chapter 1, Part 2

I pace up and down the Mayor's office, the plush crimson carpet providing a comfortable walking platform for my bare feet. A fresh suit, shirt and tie hang over a chair, provided by the Mayor himself. I am not allowed home to change. I am now officially a tribute in the 65th Hunger Games, I am a Capitol possession.

The past hour has yet to process in my mind; leaving the stage, being led by two peacekeepers to the Mayor's house with _her_. We had yet to say a word to one another, or even make eye contact. I personally thought this was the best method, as I'm not one for making alliances which I will eventually have to break. Formalities continued with the Mayor, he kissed _her_ on the cheek and shook my hand. Likewise the celebratory nature of the crowd at the Reaping, he was obviously excited. He eyed me victoriously; word had reached his ears. Expectation sagged my shoulders when alone.

And so here I was. Locked in an extravagantly decorated room in the mayor's house, wondering who had been given the clearance to come to me for final farewells. I look at the suit with contempt. "I'm refusing to put it on!" I say to no one in particular.

"Well son, you're going to look mighty silly to those Capitol citizens," a voice answers from the doorway, amused.

Immediately recognising the tone, I turn and face him - "Father." He walks to me, and for the first time in my life I don't hesitate to hug him, burying my head in his chest. He accepts, only for a few moments before I feel his body stiffen and step back. I willingly let go, knowing my father has far exhorted his physical emotions for his lifetime on me.

"I didn't think you'd be able to come, father, because of the storm last night," I ask, gratitude flowing through my words.

"...and not see you off to victory?" he answers confidently. I laugh weakly back as a response. He continues, "No it's fine, Bill's still out there for me, remember the pact we took before last year?"

I nod, of course. Bill Cresta and my father had been best friends for their whole lifetime, after meeting at age eleven in tribute training. Though neither volunteered, they still maintained a solemn respect for the Games; and so last year they had come to an agreement; if either had a child which was a chosen tribute, the other would take over their work during the period, and they would divide the catch everyday.

I look at my father, the man most dear to me, who worships the games and their victors. "Father..." I start. He shakes his head, with a sympathetic smile.

"No Finnick, listen. All those people, the whole District, want you to win for them, but I want you to win for no one but yourself. No tribute becomes a victor when they're got the weight of their District upon their back. This is yours Finnick, you're the strongest Career tribute I've ever seen, and not only that you've already made a great impression with the audience." He smiles and looks down at my still bare chest and shorts. Pulling me closer, he whispers, "Have you got that Finnick? The 65th Hunger Games is yours."

Before I answer the door opens and a small girl enters. With long, wild brown hair and large, bright eyes I know she is one of Cresta's children.

My father looks relieved. "Ahh, Annie. Did your father send you?" She nods, and catches my eye. Though she is no older than 11, I sense a wisdom far deeper than her age as she considers me with her green eyes. After a moment, she cocks her head to the side and shyly smiles at me.

"Good luck Finnick," she says.

"Thank you," I reply, unsure of what to make of the girl.

She turns to my father hands him the finest gold plaid chain I've ever seen, before running out of the room and slamming the door behind her. I examine the chain in my father's hands. The pattern mimics that of the most intricate fishing knots, being joined by a small fish hook at the back. I'm still eyeing it greedily as he hands it out to me. I eagerly take it and run my fingers along it's length. "Finnick, he starts, "Finnick I want you to take this, as your token."

My token. In the events of the morning I had completely forgot I was allowed to take in a small item, representative of my District, into the arena. The chain was perfect, as growing up around the sea, around fishing and boats, I could tie knots and make fish hooks almost before I could walk.

"Okay father, I will." I look up at him, his eyes firm and unblinking. "Thank you, I quietly say. He nods and puts his hand on my shoulder. We stand in this position until there is a small knock at the door.

"Finnick?" I hear my mother's call.

"Yes, come in," I reply.

Holding Fern in her arms, she enters, her face the white colour I had seen it only once before. She lets Fern climb from her arms, and run into mine. I pick up her light frame, and her body heat instantly warms up my bare chest. I feel the wetness of tears around my neck where she is snuggled.

I had been strong until this moment. I had no fear for my life, or the Games itself, but I suddenly I was brimming with terror for my family. Rumours, although never confirmed, had reached the District of past victors and their tragic family life after the games. They can take me away, torture me, even kill me in their Games, but not Fern, not my family. Never.

Fern lifts her small head from the crook of my neck in which it had been buried and she looks me directly in the eye. "Finny..." I struggle to understand her between sobs, "Finny, go show th- them. What a-a-a, how goo-goo-good you ar-are."

I snuggle her back into my neck. "Fern, don't you worry okay? I'll be back here soon, okay?" I say. She shakes her head disbelievingly. I push her back to face me, and cup her chin in my hand. "Pirate Finny will be back, I just have to go on this adventure alone." Her little face breaks into the smallest of smiles.

"One minute!" a call shouts from behind the door.

Panic sets in. This might be the last time I ever see my family. I hug them all, kissing Fern twice on the temple. Dad takes Fern from me and carries her toward the door. With a final wave and smile, they are both gone.

I turn to face my mother. The memories flood back in, of the night I was chosen, of her secretly shed tears. As my words fail me, I start to say the only word I can think of "Mother..."

She rushes into my arms and makes the most heartbreaking sound, a quick, almost inaudible sob. "Finnick, she whispers, "Don't let it beat you, don't let it beat you, ever."

I barely have time to register her words before she is whisked from my sight, and two peacekeepers enter the room. I falter only slightly before snapping back into my alter-persona, confident and proud Career tribute. One of the men smirks at my still inappropriate clothing, but I feel no shame.

"The Mayor requests you, change," the other guard says blankly.

"Give me a moment then," I answer, with a touch of pride. They exit the room.

Once changed I look down in my hand and look at my token, the chain. I quickly fasten it around my neck before the door snaps open, and I'm escorted out of the Mayor's house into a car with _her_, which quickly escorts us to the station to take the train to Capitol. Before I board I steal one last glance at the grey midday sky, threatening the District with another terrific storm. I sigh and step on board.

_I am Finnick Odair_,_ I am 14 years old from district 4, and I am a career tribute in the 65__th__ Hunger Games._

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I don't know how I feel about this section, but Finnick and Annie meet for the first time! I wanted to fit this in somewhere, it just so happened to work here. Sorry I've been busy with university exams, but now I'm free so I'll be writing more regularly! Thank you for reading once again. (:_  
><em>


	4. Chapter 2

Water. It's more than a natural substance in our district; it's a way of life. We base our year around the tides of the ocean, their constant swells and falls; and of course, the bounty that it offers. But of all the forms it takes, rain is most fascinating to me. I am mesmerised by the ability of the sky to be so open, letting us humans view all of her emotions. I often thought of it as an infinite ocean, one of the last mysteries a boy from district 4 can dwell on.

As the train zips along the tracks, each second taking us close and closer toward Capitol, the sky treats us to a spectacular show of rain, thunder and lightning. I sit at one end of a plush purple couch, at the the other end: _her_, silent, looking directly out of the opposite window. We had sat like this, unchanged for 15 minutes when suddenly our district representative, Gwen Harpie steps out of one of the many rooms down a long hall, looking extremely frazzled as she approaches us.

"Oliva, Finnick" she greets us, shaking our hands. "Sorry we've had a minor mishap with one of the stylists, Jannis. Opiate addict, she rolls her eyes, "poor fellow." Anyways, we've been sent a newcomer, I was worried at first, but I've been assured she's the absolute best."

_She_ just stares blankly at Gwen, the information washing over her, being of little interest. I instead, perk up, "Oh, Gwen, so when do we meet our stylists?"

Looking at me, with those two same pink patches returning on her cheeks, Gwen replies, "they should be out right about..."

As if on cue, two stylists step out of another compartment. One male and a female, both are the epitome of Capitol fashion, dyed skin and hair, bright unusual clothing and on one of them, luminescent tattoos. They nod at Gwen and turn to look at their tributes, or, more correctly, models for this year's games.

"Oooh, great batch this year Gwen!" the male exclaims eying _her_ hair with great excitement. He offers his hand to us both before, taking _her_ by the arm and leading her briskly down the hallway.

Once the pair had departed, the female just stands blinking at me, intrigued. Gwen, clearly feeling the tension, motions me to stand up. I'm a clear 3 feet taller than my stylist.

"Finnick, Gwen begins, "this is Fleur, she's new." I offer my hand to her, Fleur instead whips out a small tape measure and starts measuring my arm and hand span.

"Excellent, says Gwen, "now if you want to make your way toward your room..." Fleur speeds off and I follow her into one of the many rooms of the train. Upon entering the room, I am met by two other Capitol women, who immediately descend on my and start making observations. "A strong arm, that will be useful... Lovely eyes, like the sea... his hands, perfect fingers... Oh look Cleo!" My shirt is lifted up, and both giggle excitedly at my toned muscles.

"Girls!" a voice snaps, and my shirt falls down. Fleur emerges from behind a desk, looking at best, strained. "Please, do your job, quickly, I have much to work on." Waving her had to dismiss us, I am led into another room and told to undress. As I oblige, the women giggle again, and I wink at them. I could really play this angle, noting the effect of such small actions.

For the next hour my entire body is washed, shaved, plucked and examined by the Capitol workers, who inform me they are my 'prep team.' They work quickly and efficiently, and upon finishing dress me in a light blue tunic, fawn trousers and boots. I am then left in the first room, opposite Fleur's unoccupied desk.

Fleur bursts through one of the doors, and nods at me. I can tell she means business. "Mr Odair, she begins curtly, "I am your stylist. I am here to, at the least, make you appealing to the crowd."

I smile confidently, assuming a haughty air. "Surely not only with clothes..." I drawl.

Fleur scowls, wrinkles appearing on her tattooed brow. "The persona you assume will not be up to only me, but you must remember, clothes have a lasting influence, she interjects. "Though I will be the first to admit you do have a certain, physical advantage, in winning over sponsors."

I laugh. Don't I know it.

"Now, Jannis drew up some preliminary designs for your opening ceremony outfit," she continues pulling out a small board with sketches all over it. Inspecting them, I see a boy wearing fish scales, clad in rope and fish hooks, in another he is in a net, and emerging from his... wait is that a dolphin? I lean closer, eyes furrowing in what must look like concentration to Fleur, but is in fact disgust. Oh god, please no.

"I, ergh..."

"However," she interjects, "I have decided instead to...

Suddenly, there is a sharp knock on the door as Gwen enters.

"Finnick? Your mentor is outside, they would like to talk to you."

"Okay, Mr Odair. Although I hate to admit it, your mentor is slightly more key to your Games than myself." Fleur dismisses me with a nod. I almost jump out of my chair to escape her and what maniacal designs she has in store for me. Hopefully they were nothing worse than emerging from the mouth of a dead dolphin.

I had met most of the potential mentors in tribute training, as all had been careers themselves; however I was eager to find out who they had selected to be mentor this year. "Please, someone with a brain," I say under my breath before entering the main room of the train, where the purple couch sits.

Looking up, I am almost forced to fall into the chair standing next to me. Before me stands Maggie Bryant, the oldest mentor alive in our district. Victor of the 11th Hunger Games, Maggie had been one of the first Career tributes trained in the district. Volunteering in place of a small 12 year old girl, the well-build 16 year old was both physically and mentally prepared for what had been displayed in the games so far. Maggie soared through training with an even eleven, equal for first to another Career tribute from district 1. The arena, primarily rocky highlands, presented a challenge to her, but she soon was able to find her feet once she came into a decent set of spears, her weapon of choice, upon a dead tribute. One week and five quick and decisive kills later, she was victorious. Maggie Bryant. Old and tough as nuts, but the smartest victor district 4 has ever had.

I break into a smile "Great to see you Maggie."

She smiles back and grips my hand, "Finnick, call me Mags, please." During our exchange, someone enters the room. As I step back from Mags and catch sight of _her_, I am left speechless.

Wearing nothing by a simply blue dress and matching sandals, her flowing blonde hair down to her waist, _she_ is the very image of beautiful.

I raise an eyebrow at her and I can't help but smile, with approval? Or malice? I don't know, and neither does _she_ as her only response is to stare back at me, the same blank eyes as before.

"Oliva, nice to meet you, Mags steps forward, "I'm Mags, your mentor."

"Nice to finally meet you," _her_ melodious voice echoes around the room.

Mags turns to the couch and beckons us to both sit on it, she takes the large armchair sitting to the left.

"Now, kids, you'll be pleased to hear I'm not your only mentor. Zane's meeting us in the Capitol, he's been on... eherm, business." I feel Oliva shift uncomfortably next to me and I restrain myself from doing the same. Pleased? Zane Kirk, after winning at the age of 18, six years ago, devoted his time to gambling and womanising in the Capitol. However, whenever he was home, he was always in the company of a new girl, some as young as Oliva.

Mags continues, "we're going to work on a lot of publicity stuff over the next few days. We need to make you two as appealing as possible to the audience." I notice a twinkle in her eye, "Sponsors guys. They will be your lifeline in the arena. The more charismatic and attractive you are, the more I can help you. But it seems this year I've been given an easy job." Mags sits back and chuckles.

I can't help it, I smirk at her remark. "Only for you, Mags," I remark.

Mags goes to reply, but Gwen interrupts, entering from a room off the long hallway in a new outfit, equal, if not more visually shocking than her first.

"Hello team!" she beams, as though having the time of her life. Her eyes find Mags halfway between talking, and my chuckling and then her face drops. "Did I interrupt anything?" she inquires.

"No, Gwen not at all." I answer, shooting Mags a smile.

"Well, that's good" Gwen comments, returning to her positive attitude. "There a replaying of all the Reapings on the television in about 10 minutes. I thought it might be useful for you both to watch," she continues, looking at _her_ and then myself. We both agree and all four of us settle down whilst food is brought in to sit on a small table in front of us.

Starting with district 1, we watch how the day unfolded for our competitors, and I made mental notes of people to watch. The four tributes from districts 1 and 2, all volunteers, and evidently all Careers; a small, agile looking girl from district 9, and her twin brother who volunteered; and a quite largish boy from district 12, who looks about 18. When district 4's is shown, unusually last, I am surprised to see myself on television without a shirt on. The morning feels like it was in another lifetime. My mind recounts my adventure with Fern, and my decision not to volunteer. It seems fate had a different plan in mind. Afterward, the commentator runs through the list again, I count, 24 tributes; 23 people between me and home. With a few closing comments (one which embarrassing includes my naked chest from the Reaping) the television turns blank.

Gwen doesn't miss a heartbeat.

"I hope you're both made some mental notes of the competition," she beams, "we'll be arriving in Capitol around midday tomorrow, at nightfall the official parade will mark the official opening of the games. The next day, your 3 days of training begin."

I nod, determined. Training was one thing which I had always succeeded in, accelerating at a much faster pace than those of my age in career training. _She _instead makes a small hiccupping noise.

Looking pleased, Gwen bids us all goodnight and exits the main longue, leaving us both in the company of old Mags.

Expecting a long night of tactical discussions and small mental training exercises, I rub my aching eyes and shake my sagging shoulders. However Mags surprises me when she instead sternly says "Right, bed, for both of you. You've had a long day, go sleep it off." My mind cries in relief. _She_ looks about as pleased as someone that their district has been flattened; Distraught, desperate. I see tears forming in the corners of _her_ deep green eyes; but before I can react, _she_ abruptly turns and walks off to her room.

Mags shakes her head. "She's going to need something to sleep that one, you're alright aren't you boy?" She smiles at me, trying to mask her pity, but it seeps right through her lie.

"I'm fine Mags, promise," I reply, and I turn and follow _her_ down the long hallway.

I hear Mags pull out a chair and drop her aging body down. "Another year..." she sighs. I just faintly hear her words before I turn into what I suppose is my room. Lifting my head, my mouth falls open in surprise, yet I make no sound. Remaining silent, I slip out of the room and into the opposite, which, I note, has the plaque "District 4 male tribute" on the front.

It's only after I bury my head into the multitude of pillows on my bed that I dare think about what I had seen. I small smile emerges over my lips as I remember the curve of her back, the shape of her breasts and her slender legs. _She_ was beautiful, no doubt, and yet for me to get home Oliva was going to have to die.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Sorry it's been ages! Now I planned to have at least 2 or so more chapters before the games start but i really really want to get to them already (and I suppose you guys do to) so next chapter might be big and full of things. We'll see how I go. But I promise the wait will not be that long! Thanks for sticking with me. PS - Please leave a review! I'd love to hear your comments and questions!


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